we are nowhere and it's now
by le blah
Summary: and I know everything is falling apart but somehow I've never been happier. slight sasusaku, eventual kakasaku AU
1. oh well, okay

I guess I should've seen it coming.

I mean, they'd been fighting for ages, and it just kept getting worse. I should've seen the train wreck approaching from a mile away. I should've realized.

In Psychology, we call this a "hindsight bias." What we know now feels like it should've been obvious before. But it wasn't. Which, I guess, is why I feel like someone just punched a hole through my stomach.

No.

No, that's not it.

People say that when you get bad news, it's like your heart leaps to your throat and your stomach drops to your toes.

That's what it was like.

Exactly that.

"Sweetie..."

Of course it started that way. It always starts that way. Yes mommy, yes daddy. Good call. A pet name will _definitely_ soften the blow.

Morons.

"...well, you see, the thing is..."

And now you're stalling. Perfect. Another fantastic idea- draw out the already uncomfortable process! Man, you guys should write a handbook or something.

"...we're getting a divorce."

...and there goes my stomach. and my heart.

It's weird, because you'd think I'd start crying hysterically. Or at least feel some sort of emotional pain. But I don't feel anything at all. No ache in the back of my throat, no tears welling up beneath my lashes. Nope. Nada. Just this weird, empty feeling. Blank and bland. A black hole. Etcetera.

They're looking at me expectantly now. Great.

"Okay...?" is my brilliant response.

Now they're looking at each other. "Exchanging a glance". Awesome, now they think I'm some sort of cold, emotionless robot-child. Not that they ever really knew me anyway. Aghhhh teenage angst!!!!11

"Now, we want you to know that above everything else, this isn't your fault."

Thanks, guys. Stellar job, really. Totally profesh. I mean my God, you're practically plagiarizing the Young Adult section of the local library at this point. I don't want to hear this anymore. I open my mouth and speak, and my voice actually wavers a little, which is strange because as far as I can feel, I'm still an emotionless void.

"So, um, I think I'm gonna go now. Out. To think. And stuff." And by that, I add silently, I mean "get completely and utterly shitfaced with my best friends. Not that you were ever involved enough in my life to realize that all those times I came home smashed, I was _not _just being overly emotional because it was that time of month. Seriously. In December it was every weekend! And you still didn't catch on. Good riddance."

At this point in the inner monologue, I'm out the door, car keys in hand. Thank God for rich, detached parents and their idea of a good 14th birthday present... "You'll be driving soon, right honey? Oh. No? Well! Um. Think of this as... uh. Motivation! Yeah. Ohh oh sorry important work call. Yeah okay we'll talk at dinner. Maybe."

Tch.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my parents. I just...disdain them, which of course, isn't exactly a healthy attitude for an 18 year old girl to have. But...well, I can't say that they really try, because that would be a huge lie. But.. well, I'm pretty sure they care. They're just...bumbling. They don't have their priorities right, because obviously if they did, they wouldn't put "work", "being social butterflies", and "being rich snobs" ahead of "being decent parents/human beings."

Okay, so I'm a little bitter.

The good news, though, is that I'm not that screwed up! I mean, given the circumstances, I'm pretty normal. As soon as I realized that my parents weren't exactly ideal (read: permissive as hell), I started whipping myself into shape. Because I need _somebody _I can count on, and it clearly wasn't going to be them.

As I slam the car door shut, I whip out my phone (yes, it's the new Verizon iPhone, because my parents are loaded and they think that showering me with exorbitant gifts will make up for their abundant lack of parenting), because it's only fair to give Naruto and Sasuke at least a little bit of advance warning. On that note, I text Ino, TenTen, and Sai, because what the hell, let's make it a fucking party.

Ino was my best friend from the start, when I was an insecure little girl with a too big forehead and wide, innocent eyes.

Ha.

I laughed out loud just thinking that.

Anyway, then Sasuke showed up and we had a bit of a falling-out, because we were little girls trying to be big girls and we thought what we felt was love. He, of course, was only interested in not contracting cooties.

Funny how these things work out, because now we're all great friends. Which is good for me, because without Naruto and Sasuke to keep me grounded and Ino and TenTen to be my support system, I probably would've gone crazy (okay, craziER) by now.

Sai is Ino's new boyfriend. I guess she never really got over the tall, brooding, and drop-dead gorgeous phase, because he's pretty much Sasuke's doppelganger in every way except the hair. And the personality, of course, but that's sort of unimportant from Ino's perspective.

At this point I'm already pulling into the garage of Naruto's apartment complex. His parents died when he was still a baby, so his grandfather took him in. He died just a few years ago, so Naruto's on his own now. It was a tough time, but Naruto's a tough kid with a disposition so cheerful that being around him is like drowning in sunshine and laughing babies, or whatever. So anyway, it didn't take him too long to bounce back, and now he lives alone, so we go to his place to get drunk. Long story short, that is.

I get out of the car, grab some of the miso ramen I keep stocked in there to surprise Naruto with (swear to god, he lives off the stuff. and he's not exactly rich, so I just pretend I'm making up for that time when we were 13 and I forgot his birthday).

When I open the door, everybody's already there cracking open the PBRs. "What's the sitch, KP?" jokes Naruto, but a closer look at my face wipes the laugh clean off his face, which is saying something.

"Sakura..." Ino begins, but she doesn't get any further because then I'm in her arms focusing on breathing in and out and in and out to keep myself from breaking down completely.


	2. is this it

Obviously I've always led a very "privileged" existence. That is, material-possession-wise, I've never been lacking. But there are still a few things that really, really piss me off. Like narrow-mindedness, and when you can't find the right top to a pot (yes, I do cook for myself...occasionally...), or when you take a bite of pizza and all the cheese comes off and it's hot and gross looking and you have to eat it too fast. I also hate crying in front of people, which is why I'm trying to swallow down the ache in my throat and find my inner calm.

I pull away from Ino and collapse on the couch, where Sasuke and Naruto immediately sandwich me.

"I'm fine," I assure them reflexively- they tend to overreact. A lot. Once they had a brawl on the roof of my house because Sasuke was thinking of switching to a different school.

Yeah, so we're all a little crazy. Whatever.

"It's not that big of a deal, I just... I was surprised, is all," I explain. They're still eyeing me suspiciously, so I shake my head and continue. "My parents are divorcing."

Their reactions are predictable; sympathetic and understanding. I'm really not in the mood for condolences, though, so I just shake my head again and smile a little. "I'd prefer it if we could just pretend that I missed you guys, though."

They laugh and get the message and there's a second there where we're all just sitting around awkwardly, but then Sai tosses me a beer and it's like we're 15 again, getting drunk for the very first time.

I'm feeling better already, because I know better than to let my parent's stupid personal problems get me down. I mean the hell, they have 3 therapists. Each.

Clearly I'm better off doing my own thing.

It's my turn to pick what club we visit tonight, but I decide that we'll pregame a little beforehand, because in my personal opinion, grinding with a sweaty stranger is always better with a buzz. Yeah. We keep it classy.

After a while, I move to the balcony for a breather, and am just admiring the shadowy silhouettes of city buildings when Sasuke comes out and joins me.

"You're in my spot," he informs me with a half-smile. It's a stupid inside joke between us; those were the first words he ever spoke to me. Now it's our version of "hey you doin okay no okay wanna talk about it okay." Yeah. Dead serious. The subtext of our conversations could fill several books and an informational pamphlet or two.

I fake a wide smile in return. "I'm doing fantastic thanks, and yourself?" He just shakes his head and moves up beside me, leaning against the railing like I am.

We stare into space for a while, and then he breaks the silence again, turning to look at me in the face. "Look," he begins, and I can already tell you exactly what's coming next.

The thing you can count on with Sasuke is that whatever he does, he doesn't half-ass it. He's the word-perfect definition of "the strong and silent type," but what he says, he means.

He's going to tell me that he knows we've had our rough patches as friends, but he wants me to know I mean the world to him and he'll do whatever it takes to keep me going strong through all of this.

"Sakura, we've been friends for a long time."

I was right. He'll offer me the world and him, but he's doing it out of a sense of duty and we both know it.

"You mean everything to me and I know the same is true for you about me."

I'm 18. I shouldn't be this cynical. It's unhealthy. I'm already disappointed and he hasn't even finished yet. When I was 12 the idea of being friends with this boy gave me heart palpitations. Now, I'm feeling let down because he's not confessing his undying love to me? Great. So I really am a spoiled brat.

"I know this situation is hard for you, harder than you're willing to let on."

My tongue is still glued stuck inside my mouth.

"I just wanted you to know that whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'm here."

He's looking me straight in the eye, and I've only seen him this serious once before in my life. I wonder for a second if I'm really that unstable, that my friend thinks that my crazy parents finally cutting the knot is enough to send me over the deep end without proper care/maintenance. Almost immediately, I dismiss the thought. He's being a good friend. I'm being an ungrateful bitch.

"Sasuke, you know I love you." He starts, as though he wants to say something, but I cut him off. "And I know you love me. Like a sister. And that's all I need right now. Family." I pull him into a tight hug and pretend for a second that we're both young and carefree and in love.

But then we break apart and it's just me, the crazy cynical trust-fund, soon-to-be-broken-home overemotional romantic and Sasuke, the quietly burning determined sexbomb with a tortured past. My brother.

"Thank you," he says softly and I don't take offense at his obvious relief to not need to play boyfriend, because it's completely understandable.

He turns and walks back inside and I follow, grabbing my purse and everyone else in the room, and we head out into the night.


	3. young adult friction

Tonight it was my turn to pick our venue, and I'm in a gritty mood, so I chose a gritty club. Gritty, by the way, is a neat little euphemism for "a complete shithole." At least, that's what it means tonight.

I'm holding a pack of Newports in one hand and a shot of some unidentified liquid in the other (Ino thrust it at me, and God knows I can't refuse that girl). I'm just standing kind of bemusedly to the side, watching everything else move. I'm pretty buzzed, which is nice I guess. I danced a little, but just with Naruto and then some sketchball who said his name was Kiba and then tried to Sharpie his number on my arm. He drooled, too. It's always the weird ones...

When I'm intoxicated I use SAT words and act sluggish. After 15 minutes of staring into space with glazed eyes, I finally decide to move this party outdoors for a breath of non-stale-sweaty-thick air. Not that I mind the club smell. I love it, actually. But then, I love strange things, like cigarette smoke and fresh tennis balls and boys that will never love me back.

On that note, I grab Sasuke from the clutches of some hot redhead and tell him where I'm headed. "Don't be long," I think he says, and I guess he's right to be worried because yeah, this isn't the best neighborhood.

I nod to the bouncer as I walk out and step off to the side, leaning against the cool bricks. I slide open the cigarettes, grab one, and then curse loudly because _of course_, I've forgotten my lighter.

"Need a little help there?" a pleasantly smooth male voice inquires from somewhere above me, as I fruitlessly try to spark the tip of my cigarette against the brick wall.

I look up and see an absurd hairstyle poking over the side of the roof, staring down at me amusedly. At least, I think the guy is amused. I can't actually tell for sure, though, because he's wearing some ridiculous black mask that covers the entire lower half of his face.

"I could use a light, yeah," I respond, "if you wouldn't mind, that is." Yeah Saku-rah, turn on the charm for weird strangers late at night! You make such great life decisions.

He fumbles in his pocket for a second and I have to give him props for the dark Diesel jeans and- oh my God, is that a pink Louis Vuitton sweatervest? You're wearing that to a _club_? What?!? He leans over further and tosses down the lighter, which I deftly miss.

"Oops, sorry... impaired motor skills and whatnot... my bad." I fumble with excuses and the lighter.

"Don't hurt yourself," he chuckles, and I roll my eyes. Then again, I'm the stupid drunk teenager conversing with a random guy on a roof at 1 in the morning, so I guess he has a right to be a little condescending. I chomp my cigarette, light it up, and then toss the lighter back up to Mystery Man. I'm considering naming him Albert. Or I could just ask for his name, but that would take all the fun out of it. Also, it could be construed as hitting on him. I mean, in this modern age, who knows what anything means anymore?

"Hey, you wanna return the favor?" he calls down, and it takes me a second to process what he's asking for. "Any day now," he adds. What a cheeky bastard. I like him already, too much for my own good.

Just thinking that makes me want to smash my head against the brick wall. What am I _doing_?? I'm tossing him up my pack of cigarettes. He's catching it easily- not so drunk, I guess- pocketing it, and walking away.

It takes a second to register, but when it does..."Hey! _Hey_!! Those are mine! They aren't cheap! You're taking advantage of... superior height! This is exploitation of a minor! Wait, no, no it's not... Wait!"

I do know how to pick 'em. Jesus. He's probably some homeless guy. That would explain why he stole my smokes. And the hair, for that matter. But not the clothes... Ugh. I run back into the club, searching frantically for stairs. Aha! That was my last pack of Newports and I'm not letting them get away that easily.

I spot a not-so-artfully mussed head of- is that _silver_?? forget cradle-robber, I'm a regular gravedigger- hair bobbing its way towards me. Just my luck. I stop Mr. Cigarette-Moocher in his path, and he rubs the back of his head awkwardly and crinkles his eyes. Oh, please.

"So, I think you have something of mine...?" I say politely, even though I learned from XKCD that you actually catch more flies with vinegar than honey. People aren't flies.

"Actually, I threw them away. Cancer-causing and all, you know. How about a dance instead?"

Now, I know I'm rich, and a pack of cigarettes won't even have a chance of making a dent in my wallet. And I know they're bad for you, and I'm actually trying to quit. I know all of this, but even so, an unreasonable wave of anger rises up in me, and I stomp away growling, the sound of his laughter behind me only fueling my fury.

I grab Naruto and drag him out of the club, ignoring his protests. We're getting the hell out of here. I guess a night of clubbing wasn't what I needed after all.


	4. people got a lotta nerve

I have to get out of this house.

Ever since the ill-fated club night, I've been stuck in here, thanks to the 18,000 feet of snow we've had in the past week.

During this time of trials and suffering, my parents decided that the best way to ease their consciences about the big D would be to get me a therapist.

I'd run away but I'm counting on that trust fund.

I know I sound really ungrateful, but the last thing in the world I want is to sit down with some asshole who's paid to listen to whiny rich kids' problems and have him ask me a bunch of personal questions and report the answers to my parents. I know it's a him because my parents were bragging about how he's some kind of psychology genius, the top of his field. Of course they'd only have the best for their little darling. Their little sexually active nicotine and alcohol ridden darling. Their precious babygirl whose 17th birthday they actually _forgot_.

Ugh. I'm so jaded. Maybe I do need a therapist. I guess I'll find out this afternoon. It's the first time in a week that the roads are cleared and salted, and what I'll be doing with this newfound freedom is visiting a man who dedicated his life to listening to kids complain.

On that note... I glance at the clock. I have a half hour. Might as well be early. It's not exactly pleasant sitting here in a house with two other people who will only talk to each other if the subject is my mental health. Yeah, I might as well blow this popsicle stand.

Driving has always had an oddly soothing effect on me. I glance out the window. The houses are getting progressively shoddier as I drive towards his building. This guy must live in a really mediocre part of town. Yeah, he has his clients (if that's what you call them) come to his home. Classy.

I'm so busy being judgmental that I almost miss the turn into his apartment's parking lot. Cursing, I swerve sharply into the lot. I'm normally a good driver; I'm not sure what's wrong with me today. I pull out the crumpled piece of paper with this guy's information on it. Kakashi Hatake, apt. #204. Youth counsellor, psychologist, etc.

I jog up the stairs and rap on his door. I'm standing pretty close to it, to the point where I can count the individual chips in the turquoise paint. I'm down with turquoise. It's kind of a soothing color.

I haven't heard any sign of life, so I knock again, more sharply this time. I check my watch and the appointment time, just to be sure. I'm exactly one minute and fifteen seconds early. He still hasn't answered the door, so I pound my fist against the door, and then try the knob. It's locked. Great.

The card doesn't have a phone number on it or anything. I could stay or I could go. Sighing, I slump down next to the door. Anything is better than going back home. If I get back this early, they'll think I threatened the guy with a lawsuit or something like that. It's not like I'm _that _desperate to get out of this. I just think it's completely unnecessary. Whatever.

I'm listening to my iPod with my eyes closed, leaning against the wall, when I feel a kick on my knee. I jump up, startled, and end up face-to-face with Albert, aka Mr. Cigarette Destroyer, aka Well-Dressed Club Hobo. Well, it's actually more face-to-hair, because he's bending over and picking up my bag. He slings it over his shoulder and turns to unlock his door.

"You- you-" I have no idea where to begin. "You threw out my cigarettes and hit on me and... you're 15 minutes late for an appointment that YOU set!" Honestly, I'm not sure which of those offends me more.

He ignores me, striding into his apartment. He turns slightly towards me and asks, "You coming?" I roll my eyes; he's still holding my bag. Of _course _I'm coming. Otherwise he'll probably throw that out too.

We walk into what appears to be his "office"- there are two comfortable looking armchairs on opposite sides of a large smooth wooden desk that looks like it is often polished. I am forcibly reminded of Anchorman- "I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany."

We settle down in our respective chairs. I already feel uncomfortable; we have yet to say anything, and this man already knows more about me than my parents. What a happy coincidence.

"So," he begins with a smile, and I dread what's coming next. It can't be good, whatever it is. "I know you're here because your parents don't love each other anymore, but I guess we should also probably cover your potential alcoholism and nicotine addiction."

I groan. When I first met this guy, I thought he was an asshole. Now I'm 100% sure of it.


	5. gimme sympathy

"Look," I begin tiredly, "I'm not addicted to anything. It's just a phase, you know, of teenage rebellion. It's, uh, a defense mechanism- sublimation... I'm making sure my parents won't develop... empty nest syndrome when I leave for college."

I finally look him straight in the face; he's smirking. This can't be good. "I think you're forgetting who's the professional here," he says. "You can throw as many random terms from your intro level psych course at me as you want. It won't work."

I sit up straighter and lean forward, all business. "Alright Mr. Hatake, let's get to the point here. Your job is to help people. I neither want nor do I need help. So how about this. I'll never actually show up again. I'll find a way to entertain myself for an hour once a week, and you can have an hour's paid break. Sound good?"

He sighs and looks at me balefully. "But what about my professional integrity?"

I put all my cards on the table then. "That's a good question. What would your other clients think about your _professional integrity_ if they found out you hit on a teenaged mental case at some sleazy dive?"

"Probably either 'get some' or 'a teenager spending time at a sleazy dive clearly needs a therapist.'"

This man is insufferable. I want to smack that self-satisfied smile right off his face. I hate pulling the "my parents" card, but... "My parents-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Ah yes. Your parents. Let's start there. Why don't you tell me a little about your home life?"

"I have nothing to say about my home life," I respond coldly. This situation is spiraling way out of control. I'm beginning to doubt that it was ever in my control in the first place. He smiles, and my heart drops.

"We can do this the easy way," he says, still smiling- it's getting a little creepy, "or the hard way."

This is ridiculous. Apparently I'm a five-year-old? "I'm gonna have to go with none of the above," I say, standing up and snatching my bag off his table.

He gives an exaggerated sigh. "I'm sorry you have to be that way. I'm also sorry I'll have to inform your parents about your potentially self-harming behavior. You see, if I think you're a threat to yourself or others, I'm legally obliged to--"

"WHAT." Usually when I'm dealing with difficult adults I try to stay calm, cool, and composed. It freaks them out, and they're less inclined to treat me like a child. This, however, is just too fucking much.

"So does this mean I have your cooperation?" he asks, with what I'm sure is a very self-satisfied smirk.

I'm furious, but I grudgingly return to my seat. "That's completely illegal! It's blackmail, and... slander and libel!"

If anything, he seems more amused than before. "So let's get back to your parents..."

I've never been really comfortable talking about myself. I always get awkward and generally change the subject, which does not bode well for future college and job interviews. But somehow Kakashi's asshole attitude actually makes it easier. It makes me not care what he thinks, and over the course of the next hour I find myself telling him things I've never admitted to anyone before. How I'm a great student because even though I procrastinate like hell, I refuse to go to bed until all my work is completely finished. How I'm so self-conscious, my fitness routine is the only part of my life I really bother keeping together. How I'm terrified of what people in school actually think of me. How I fucking hate it if people ask if pink is my natural color, or worse (and more typical), if the carpet matches the drapes (he responds, "does it?" and I tell him I want to punch him in the face, and yes. Jesus. He just laughs).

I've never expressed my feelings this easily before; my friends know so much about my life because they've known me for so long. It came out in bits and pieces for them. For Kakashi, though, it's just pouring out. No wonder he's considered such a genius. He's somehow lowered my inhibitions the way no amount of PBR can. Well, that's not true. But he's done it without the messy side effects, and before I know it our hour is up.

"Alright Doctor, what's the diagnosis? Dissociative personality disorder? Herpes?" Now it's his turn to roll his eyes.

"Tune in next week to find out!" he jokes, and just like that I'm pissed at him all over again. How does he do that??

"Honestly," he tells me, "it would be preemptive for me to say at this point. I'll see you next week."

I know, but it still sucks. It was...cathartic letting it all out, but that didn't mean I wanted to do it again. "I know," I say. "That doesn't make it any less annoying."

I stand up to go. "Oh, that reminds me," he adds. "Your homework assignment for this week- don't smoke, don't drink. Think you can handle it?"

I laugh. Given the way I handle all my other homework, probably not. "We'll see."

He glares. I give him my best fake smile and then I'm out the door.


End file.
